Mastered Competition
by OnGiftedWingsIRaisedYou
Summary: How do you think Vlad Masters would take to babysitting? Exactly what he thought. But when Adam Zephyr comes to stay, another ghost seems to follow him there, and Vlad wants to know who this new specter is, and what in the world Adam has to do with it.
1. Prologue

My week had been going perfectly; nothing had gone astray, all of my new inventions worked like a charm, and no one had even slightly bothered me. I was hoping on this Saturday night, sitting in my private study with a good book and a cup of tea, that maybe my good luck would be able to last until the final minute of this week. My plan was ending extremely well; that is, until I got... the call.

It was from an old business companion I'd known since I first started to become the successful man I am today. Gregori Zephyr was a weapons seller from Russia that I met with frequently to chat about the newest developements in war machine manufacturing or world politics, etc., etc. I considered him to be a rather good friend, but this was just asking too much.

He had called at ten thirty that fateful evening to ask a favor. Greg was wondering, if while him and his wife were on a two-week business trip, they're son could stay with me.

I didn't even know he had a son.

But apparently, he was fifteen years-old, and mostly quiet, so the boy, and I quote, "shouldn't be very hard to handle". Very hard? Every child is hard to handle, no matter how quiet or old or whatever they were! I couldn't exactly say no to him though, since I sort of had to pay him back for something, so I grudgingly accepted with fake excitement, telling him I'd be happy to house their son. That it would be my pleasure.

And from that moment on, I, Vlad Masters, was subjected to being... a babysitter.


	2. 1: Unimpressive Impressions

Monday morning. Nothing good ever came of them, and today was no acception. This day was the day that the Zephyr's would be coming over, and leaving their son here. I had to admit, I was not excited in the least. I did not enjoy children at all, and could barely be around one for longer than five minutes without pulling out my hair.

This was inevitable and I'd just have to suffer through it though. I tried to find out the positives for this situation in my mind, hoping to cheer my dampened mood.

The child was fifteen and would probably want to be alone most of the time. That was fine with me; I wouldn't even care if he locked himself up in his guest room for the whole two weeks. Second, Gregori did say he was quiet. Also a bonus. That meant that if I did have to talk to him, the conversations wouldn't be tremendously long and obnoxious. So far, this was turning out better than I planned.

I was broken out of my thoughts, though, when I heard distant voices, loud and slightly angry, coming from outside my mansion. One sounded younger than the other, and they both were trying to get the upper hand of what was obviously a fight.

Curious, I stood from my plush chair in my study, and walked out, towards the door. The sounds continued on even when I got to my front door, but as soon as my hand touched a window the side to see what was going on, a sharp crack penetrated the air, and all went silent. I raised a brow in confusion but didn't peer through the window to investigate. I simply waited for what I knew was bound to come any second, and about ten moments later, I got my results.

The doorbell bonged loudly through my home, echoing off of the walls and reverberating around me. Without hesitation, I swiftly grabbed the ornate handle of the entrance and pulled it open to reveal my soon-to-be torture for the next fortnight.

On my porch stood three people. The first and tallest one was my old friend, Gregori. His dark hair was placed perfectly on his head, not a single thread out of place. Equally shady eyes bore into mine, and I detected just a bit of anger in them, strangely enough. Greg was decked out in an utterly black suit and red tie, looking professional as ever. His mouth was set in a straight line as he shoved out a hand to me, and I reached forward to shake it warmly.

While we greeted, my eyes raked over to the next in line. This was obviously his wife, and she was gorgeous. She had chocolatey-brown hair, that fell messily out of a clipped bun on the top of her head. She was dressed in black, formal pants with a red blouse and dangerously high heels; a glittering pearl necklace accented the outfit. Light green eyes gazed happily at me, and a nice smile was set kindly on her tanned face.

"Vlad, this is my wife, Julia Zephyr," Greg introduced, his Russian accent lightly coating his words.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. Masters," Julia said, holding out a hand to shake. I shook and was mildly surprised to hear a very distinct British lilt to her voice.

"Please, call me Vlad," I responded, smiling just as nicely.

"And this," Greg continued, pointing to his left, where a boy was standing, "is my son, Adam."

I studied the boy, Adam, quickly. His hair was the perfect mix of his parents, with light and dark brown tints. Hazel eyes stared straight ahead, an odd fierceness to them. His skin was tanned like his mother's, and a few of his messy locks fell onto his forehead. I noticed that one of his cheeks was bright red and beginning to darken into a bruise. So that's what that crack earlier was. Wonder what he did; oh well. My study continued on. Adam's clothes consisted of a black button-up, rolled up to the elbows and the first button undone. A white skull marked the left side of it on his stomach and a wide spiderweb did the same at his right shoulder. Dark jeans with light knees, and then black sneakers ended the attire. A large suitcase stood erect at his side and a sports bag and backpack were hanging off of his thin shoulders.

"Adam, say hello to Mr. Masters," Greg mumbled under his breath to his son, most likely hoping for me not to hear it. Too bad; ghost hearing was quite sensitive. Nothing ever slipped by me.

"Hello Mr. Masters," Adam said, and if I hadn't been listening closely, I wouldn't have heard the masked sarcasm to it.

Greg sighed quietly, but ignored it. "It's wonderful seeing you again, Vlad, but we really have to get going. Our flight leaves in two hours, and we still need to pick up a few things."

"Oh, it's fine. I understand." They were leaving me with _it_ already?

"Thank you so much for looking after our boy, Vlad. You're a real lifesaver," Julia told me, looking over to her son.

"Not a problem. I've always loved to help a friend in need." Did they really not the hear the total lie in my voice?

Julia smiled, and walked over to Adam, hugging him from behind. "Goodbye, Adam. Make sure you're good for Mr. Masters, alright? We'll see you in two weeks."

"Bye mom, have fun," he replied, completely monotone. Then, with one quick ruffle to her son's hair, she walked off after her retreating husband, climbing into the shotgun of a shiny, black Charger. I realized a moment after she closed the door, that Greg hadn't even said goodbye; just walked off without another word to his son he wasn't going to see for two weeks. A little weird, but I wasn't one to wonder about things that didn't apply to me.

Adam turned to watch them ride off for about a split second before grabbing the handle to his suitcase, and pushing past me inside.

"Where's my room?" he demanded, staring at me lazily with a raised brow.

"It'll be the one up the stairs and to the right." He gave me a dubious look, before glancing up the stairs.

"You know, being vague is almost as much fun as doing this one other thing," the teen said, straight-faced.

It only took me a second to get what he meant. I already wasn't enjoying this. "Right. Follow me then."

I strided toward the stairway, and began my ascent, just barely hearing the boy's quiet footsteps behind me. What I did hear, very clearly, though, was the _thunk-thunk, thunk-thunk _of him dragging his rolling suitcase up the stairs one step at a time. I held back a cringe for each time his luggage probably left a mark or blotch on my carpet that had been handmade and shipped from India. With great effort though, I appeared impassive and ignorant to his abuse and continued to walk.

When I got to the top, I followed the corridor right, padding over midnight black carpet. The white walls covered with paintings and mosaics, the ceiling adorned with ornate chandeliers, crystals hanging from their wiring. Each piece of art in my home was original and hand-made by the finest and I was proud of that. It reminded me just how rich I was.

Finally though, we stopped in front of a two-door entrance, the mahogany wood shiny and polished.

"This is your room," I announced, turning to face Adam who had only been walking a few feet behind me. He halted in front of his new living area, staring at the door before pushing it open.

From the small opening he had made, you could see the corner of a plush bed with dark green sheets, tan curtains hanging in front of bay windows leading to a balcony.

He coughed lightly before shoving his bags through the door, dropping his backpack and duffel to be nudged in with his foot. When all of the cases were placed inside the room, he turned to me, and crossed his arms.

"Alright, Mr. _Masters_," he said my name almost mockingly, his tone superior, "let me tell how this little relationship is going to work for the next month."

"Month?" What was he talking about? "You're parents are going to be gone for two weeks."

"And that usually translates into a month, more or less. Now listen; here are my rules. You don't bug me, I won't bug you. Don't pretend like you want me here, because I know you don't. Don't smother me, or I'll do it right back, either literally or figuratively, whichever comes first. Always knock before you come into my room, that applies to maids too. Follow these simple guidelines, and my stay here won't be entirely terrible. Got it?"

I gaped at him for a second, trying to process what he had just said. After my moment of surprise had passed, a surge of annoyance and frustration shot through me, and I straightened up, remembering just who the master of this house was.

"And you, my boy, listen to _my _rules. You will not tell me what to do, or I will make your stay miserable here. You may not enter my private study, basement, or personal room, and you will respect my authority. Dinners will be eaten together, or not at all, and you are absolutely not permitted to eat in your room. I won't pretend I want you here, because I don't, and you won't act like the little brat you are turning out to be. Otherwise, I can simply call your father, and I'm sure he'll do worse than give you a good smack after he learns how bad you've been treating me," I finished with a smirk, folding my arms triumphantly.

Adam stiffened barely visibly at that last sentence, eyes hardening. "Fine then, _Vladdy," _I cringed at the nickname, "I can follow orders. But stay out of my personal life, and I won't have to hurt you." He grinned almost evilly, and opened his door, stepping inside, and shutting it quietly with a forebody _click. _

I stood there, glaring at the door like it was the source of all my problems, for at least ten seconds before I snapped out of my gloom and rapped on the mohogany quickly.

"Dinner's at six, don't be late!" I called through the thick barrier. "I'll send up a maid to help you find your way there."

A muffled, "Alright," came from within and I sighed in irritation. This teenager was more trouble than he was worth.

For a first impression, it wasn't going so well.


End file.
